Girl Meets Billionaire

by Aubrey, Brenna

  I agreed with her. I had tasted him. And he was, indeed, delectable. But there was a dark edge that I had no idea how to describe. Like the bitter cocoa powder sprinkled on the outside of a rich chocolate truffle. Perhaps it just brought nuance to his flavor. Or maybe it threatened to ruin an otherwise scrumptious dish.

  As the week had worn on, I couldn’t stop thinking about that bullying story. For it to have been so severe, so brutal as to merit a lawsuit, multiple arrests and a couple of write-ups in the paper made it serious in the extreme. My heart went out to him. I was unable to even imagine what that must have been like.

  Except I could. After my assault, I’d feared the possibility of being bullied if I stood up and spoke out for myself. I’d never found the courage to do it.

  I examined myself in the mirror, avoiding my own eyes and that whispered word at the back of my thoughts that sounded a lot like coward.

  With the dress, the updo and the careful application of makeup, I’d spent more time on my appearance that night than I usually spent getting ready for three days in a row combined. I studied myself in the cracked full-length mirror on the back of my front door for the full effect. I looked like an old-time movie star. I twirled around again and again, watching the skirt spin up around my hips and giggling like a little girl.

  I almost fell over when someone knocked. Adam’s driver stood at the door. And he walked me to the town car, opening the door. It was four thirty in the afternoon and in spite of that, the 55 freeway was clear going southbound. We sped down the carpool lane and I watched the relentless parade of expensive hotels, billboards and mile-high palm trees speed by. The northbound side of the freeway was, of course another story, as it always was at this time of day. Cars were packed end-to-end and moving inches at a time.

  I was grateful that wasn’t us, because I didn’t want to be late for the big night. I watched carefully as the driver headed straight down the freeway until its very end. So my guess about Adam living in Balboa was right—either on the island itself or the equally impressive peninsula.

  A thin finger of land stretching across the harbor, encapsulating the opulent Newport Bay, Balboa housed the county’s glitziest homes and their wealthy inhabitants. I wondered why the driver was heading down the peninsula instead of approaching the island from the north, where there was a bridge. From this side, he would have to take the tiny ferry across to Balboa Island and there was often a long line at this time of day.

  But blocks before the turn-off for the ferry, the driver hung a left and headed toward the bay. I was now completely perplexed as to where his house was, unless he lived in the middle of the bay.

  And then the driver parked on a tiny street near a small walkway that led to what appeared to be the smallest island I had ever seen.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’re going over the bridge to Bay Island, Miss. I’ll take you. But we have to park and walk across the bridge. There are no cars allowed on Bay Island.”

  It was a tiny island, sitting smack dab in the Newport Back Bay. I’d been down in this area many times but had never noticed it. This area was a popular tourist destination in the summer and Mom often drove the two hours down to soak up the sun and ambiance when the heat of Anza grew too much for the both of us.

  Who even knew this place was here? There was no more densely populated area in all of Orange County than the Newport Bay, with houses crowded along the shores like soldiers lined up for inspection. Nevertheless, in the middle of it all was a private island.

  The briny smell and clean ocean breeze hit me first, when I stepped out of the town car. I glanced toward the late afternoon sun, still hours from setting, my heart pounding faster with each step I took over that bridge.

  Bay Island was like no other place I could imagine. About twenty houses ringed the sandy shores, central tennis courts and a private park. The island even had its own caretaker. The driver keyed in at the gate and led me to one of the golf carts waiting nearby. I wondered why we didn’t just walk. How far away could his house truly be on this tiny speck of land?

  But of course, it was the one furthest from the gate, with its own little corner beach and lawn. And it was one of the biggest homes. As we approached, I mentally sized it up, wondering how many bazillions it must have cost him.

  All this for one single guy. I thought about what Heath had learned during his investigations. Adam had had no romantic relationships. Why? It was true he was driven and worked long hours. Perhaps he just didn’t make the time for anything else? But why work so hard without having the time to truly enjoy it all? And why not find someone to share it with?

  Maybe he saw no need for a relationship or had no desire for it? It couldn’t have been for lack of women wanting him. Not only was he ridiculously rich, but he was ridiculously hot. And I had no way to judge, but I imagined he was good in bed—maybe even phenomenal. Or maybe that was just my hope. But then, I had no basis for comparison, so how would I know?

  He greeted me at the door, dressed in a camel-colored dinner jacket with skinny black tie and matching black trousers. He was arrestingly handsome, and welcomed me with a kiss on the cheek.

  “You look gorgeous,” he whispered against my temple as the driver receded with the golf cart to fetch the other guests.

  “I didn’t want to make a bad impression on your friends, being a north-county bumpkin and all. Best not mention my phone number starts with a 714 area code,” I said, instantly knowing how lame that sounded because what did it matter what sort of impression I made on his friends? They’d never see me again after Adam and I went to bed later that night.

  A shiver of excitement slithered down my spine and bumps appeared over my arms at just the thought of it. Adam’s eyes narrowed as if he noticed, but he did not comment on it. He proceeded to show me around—briefly, because a full tour would have taken at least an hour.

  The house was arranged around a wide central hall with rooms opening off to the sides and a mezzanine wrapping around three of the four sides of the floor above. Overhead, a giant skylight let the sun in and the room was bright and airy, emphasized with white furniture. I’d stepped into another dream.

  If I lived here, with my own beach and view of the bay, I’d never jump on a plane to Amsterdam or St. Lucia or anywhere else. I’d be grateful for this, my own little cove of paradise, and too scared that it would vanish while I was gone.

  Adam watched me with an amused smile as I looked around, commenting on this feature or that. I couldn’t get over the private beach and he murmured, for he was standing very close, that maybe we could enjoy it later that evening. Alone.

  My pulse raced. “But we’ll be on the yacht by then.” And, because I had only just remembered, I glanced down toward the bay and saw an empty slip with a little electric Duffy boat bobbing forlornly beside it.

  “Yes, about that,” he said, just as the guests were arriving at the front door. “We’ll have to postpone our trip in the yacht. I had to put it in for a minor repair.”

  I opened my mouth, about to question him, when he stepped forward and received the other couples—there were six people in all—and welcomed them. One couple was considerably older than Adam—thirties and forties. One of the men I recognized as Adam’s lawyer from our first meeting.

  He had the light of recognition in his eyes and he darted a strange look at Adam. Heat crawled up my neck. I knew what was going through his mind. Why’d you bring your prostitute here?

  I wondered who Adam usually invited with him to parties. If he hadn’t been in long-term relationships, then who was his “plus one”?

  Adam stood at my side making introductions. The fairer guy, Jordan Fawkes, was Adam’s CFO and apparently ignorant of our arrangement or masked his reactions very well. He stood beside a woman who looked like she could be a Victoria’s Secret model. She wore makeup from her hairline down to her cleavage and her body was flawless. Her dress was so tight it left little to the imagination. I half expected her to st
art strutting like she was moving down a catwalk. She was, however, very kind and greeted me with a smile, complimenting my dress.

  One of the other women present was a pretty blonde who looked like she was in her midthirties. Her husband seemed a lot older than her. She smiled widely for Adam, kissing him on both cheeks. Creepily enough, her husband was leering over her shoulder—at me! His eyes scoured me from head to toe and rested on my cleavage, staring at me like I was a steak and he was four weeks into a hunger strike.

  I’d gotten those looks before and brushed them aside without much thought. I’d always figured they were some men’s way of making a power play without ever having to say a word or touch a thing. I lifted my chin haughtily and jerked my head away. He wasn’t worth another thought.

  I also noticed the way his wife attended to Adam’s every word and move. She’d been introduced to me as Lindsay Walker, a very old friend. Actually, Adam’s exact words were, “We’re friends from way back.” But the way she kept touching Adam suggested more. She cast a perfunctory—almost dismissive—glance at me when we were introduced and then proceeded to chat him up, reaching out occasionally to touch his shoulder, or his elbow.

  In truth, I was bored the entire evening. I had nothing in common with these people and they were all very much a part of the scene here in Newport Beach. And I was very much not. I was easily the youngest one there, aside from Ms. Victoria’s Secret. I’d guess that Adam was amongst the youngest as well. A few asked what I did and when I told them I was a hospital orderly and a hopeful med student, they made a little more small talk and then drifted away.

  I really didn’t care about the brush-offs. It was a relief, actually. That way I didn’t feel obligated to them to try and entertain them. When we ate—around a beautifully appointed glass table on the covered porch overlooking the harbor—I was at the opposite end from Adam and his “old friend.” Lindsay had entered before most of the others and hastily switched dinner cards—I’d watched while she did it, shocked at her audacity—so that she’d be sitting next to Adam. She wasn’t old enough to be a cougar, but she was clearly quite a few years older than him. I began to suspect they had a history as I watched them over dinner.

  The guy to my right was a financier and he spent the entire meal talking to the lawyer across from me. I sat in silence and picked at my food, wondering where tonight would lead. Without the yacht, we wouldn’t be able to go out to the twelve-mile mark, where, in international waters, we would no longer be subject to the law of the land. We sure as hell wouldn’t be making that trip in the Duffy Boat, which was designed for tootling around the harbor.

  So, then what? Were we halted again? In irritation, I glanced at Adam, whose head tilted toward Lindsay, listening to something she was saying but looking bored beyond words. He glanced down the table and our gazes met. I froze and he smiled and winked, before looking away.

  The guests stayed only an hour after dinner—they were on their way to a concert at the Performing Arts Center in Costa Mesa. Lindsay and her husband were the last to go and again I got that cold once-over from her. It was beyond awkward. Her behavior was possessive. I wanted to tell her not to feel threatened. One fuck and it would be over with Adam. She had nothing to worry about. But curiously, I was having a harder time getting over the irritation I was feeling, both at her presumption with him and his open acceptance of it. Maybe they were friends like I was with Heath. But I just didn’t get that sense from them.

  She touched him like she had done it a thousand times before. Like she knew him intimately. Like a lover.

  And surprisingly that brought my claws out. It was beyond stupid of me to feel that way, but I was like a guard dog with hackles up every time I saw her mouth go near his ear to whisper something funny.

  But to my relief, everyone was gone before eight o’clock. Adam asked me if I wanted something to drink and poured some mineral water for himself and a glass of chilled pinot grigio for me.

  “Let’s go down to the beach,” he said with a smile.

  And how could I resist? There were plush, padded lounge chairs and a cabinet with towels and blankets. He set the glasses on a low table between two lounges and grabbed fleece blankets. He had the complete setup, including a propane heater—the big industrial kind they put out on restaurant patios. It wasn’t quite chilly enough that evening to turn it on.

  After the yard lights were dimmed, we sat on our lounges. I gazed out over the bay watching the golden lights dance on the water’s surface. It was just after sunset and the sky was an otherworldly shade of lavender reflected in the waters of the bay as dusk dropped quickly, like it always did close to the coast. Boats returned from the ocean, their running lights flickering across the water. The distant sounds of a party drifted from one of the neighboring houses on Bay Island.

  I glanced over at Adam, who had his phone out, reading e-mail and occasionally replying. I sipped at my wine and burrowed under the blanket, watching him. It wasn’t freezing but, like every spring night in Southern California, though the days were temperate, the nights got chilly once the sun went down, especially on the beach.

  Without looking up from his work he asked, “Warm enough? You want the heater on?”

  “No,” I said, getting up from the lounge. “I have a better idea to keep warm.”

  I picked up my blanket, walked over to his lounge, and plunked down beside him. With surprise he gazed up at me, then scooted, putting his legs down, one on either side of the lounge, and indicated that I should sit between them, which I did, lying back against him.

  At first I got that same feeling of weird stiffness—like he didn’t know what to do. Clearly Adam wasn’t a natural cuddler. But I was. I’d grown up in an affectionate family. And I had no idea why I needed to connect to him. Hell, I cuddled with Heath sometimes, when he tolerated it. It was just who I was. But the sense I got from Adam was more hesitant than reluctant, as if he didn’t know how to handle it rather than being repulsed by it.

  Adam finished his latest text and set his phone aside. I leaned my head back against his shoulder and slowly he hitched his arms around me, pulling me fast against him. We sat in silence for many long moments as the night darkened around us. My blood pounded in my throat, an exquisite tension building at the center of my being. It felt so good, just sitting here.

  “How’s work? All disasters averted?”

  “The old disasters are swept aside by the new ones, as usual,” he said.

  “One of your guests said something tonight that I found remarkable.”

  “What was that?”

  “I hope he was joking, but he said something about hardly believing you had a chance to enjoy your gorgeous home when you work a hundred-hour week as your norm.”

  “A hundred hours? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” Amusement tinged his voice.

  “But not much, I’d wager, because he also said you regularly sleep at your office.”

  He paused. “I’ve never pushed any employee harder than I push myself. If they’re doing seventy-hour weeks, then I’ll do ninety.”

  I angled my head to look up at him. “But why have all this, then, if you can’t enjoy it?”

  “Who says I don’t? Besides, Miss Doctor, I don’t think you’ll soon be a stranger to ninety-hour workweeks yourself.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I’ve been preparing myself for it. Probably why I’ve never bothered with a personal life.”

  “You and I have that in common, then.”

  I sighed and settled back against him. The phone chirped. Adam picked it up. He typed one-handed while holding me with the other.

  “Don’t you ever turn that thing off?”

  I could almost hear him smile. “Never.”

  “If I asked you to turn it off now, would you?”

  He paused and set down the phone. “If you gave me enough of an incentive.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

  He brought a hand to my hair. “I lik
e your hair up. But it’s much prettier down.”

  “If you take the pins out now, it will still stay in its same shape, I’m afraid. My landlady did it and she loves a good bottle of hairspray.”

  “Hairspray or rubber cement?” he laughed.

  “Yeah, it’s going to hurt like a bitch to brush it out.”

  He paused for a moment. “I hope you didn’t put it up because you thought you had to.”

  I shrugged, prepared to let him think that was the reason I’d put my hair up—and not because I’d wanted to keep his hands well away from my hair. I did not want a repeat of the balcony freak-out in Amsterdam. I took a deep breath. “I know it’s silly, but I really did want to impress your friends. I don’t think I did.”

  “On the contrary, I think several of them were quite taken with you.”

  I couldn’t resist. I had to say it. “I don’t think Lindsay Walker was.”

  A pause. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” But I couldn’t tell what that meant—whether he meant I shouldn’t bother because I’d soon be out of his life or that Lindsay’s opinion wasn’t worth worrying about. I decided not to ask.

  “So…” I said, hesitating. “With no yacht here, I guess that puts a damper on our evening.”

  His head dipped down, his mouth very close to my neck. “You smell amazing,” he said. Urgent need raced through me with those hoarsely uttered words. I turned my face toward his, tilting my head back so I could look him in the eyes out of the corner of mine. His stare pinned me down and I licked my lips. I wanted him to kiss me again.

  But he tilted his head away, settling back against the lounge. After a long moment, he kissed my hair, just below my temple, then lowered his mouth to my ear. When he spoke, his breath caressed me, sending frissons of desire down every nerve ending. “We can’t be together tonight.”

  But I wanted it, and judging from the bulge of his arousal pressing into the small of my back, he wanted it, too. I angled my head to bare my neck without saying a word. His mouth sank to my nape, kissing me there. I gasped at the shock of pleasure that touch evoked. Every cell on my skin came alive as my body readied itself for him. It wouldn’t be tonight, but my body didn’t know any better. It wanted what it wanted. And that evening I was right there along with it for the ride.